


Tutu, no!

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU Fic, All that nonsense, Could be continued, Dragons, Getting Together, How-They-Met, I don't know, It's confusing, M/M, Pre-Slash, THe Hale pack is Alive, i just like dragons, like I want to be one but I also want to pet one, stiles is a wizard, you're a wizard Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know your lug nut from my left nut, and I'm not allowed to handle tools."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tutu, no!

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of gen-fic, but in a How They Met fashion, that I intend to continue on into the wonderful world of slash. But mostly it's baby dragons and disgruntled Derek Hale.

 

The first thing Derek notices as he steps out of the grocery store is that something tiny is biting the rear left tire of his car..  He can’t see it properly from the angle he’s at, next to the cart coral in the parking lot of Trader Jill’s, but the puddle its wading in offers enough of a reflection that he can tell it's...blue and bewinged and very, very tiny. He watches in bewildered horror as his car shifts and sags awkwardly, and the tire deflate with a high pitched whine.

 

“Tutu, no!” A guy scrambles out of a geriatric jeep parked three spaces down and over from the camaro. He trips over the yellow cement parking divider and skids on his knees through the puddle in an effort to gather up the....the thing. “God dammit, Toots, what the hell---”

 

Derek’s only just rounded the camaro, bags swinging in his clenched fists, as the guy gathers the thing up between both palms. “Uh.”

 

“My magpie!” The guy blurts out, cupping the....the bird....against his chest. “She--Must have pecked a hole in your tire--”

 

The tire is still whining, still slowly deflating even as they speak. Derek leans down to see twin jagged lines - tiny but deep- torn through the rubber near the rim.  They’re fang marks if he’s ever see them and Derek knows fang marks. Personally. He scowls; whatever did this, it wasn’t a fucking bird. “Are you kidding me.”

 

The guy cups the thing tighter against his chest. “I’ll pay to have it repaired of course -or, or buy you a new one!”

 

Which - yes, yes he will, but that’s not why Derek reaches out and grabs the guy by the wrist, why he pries his hand away, why a---a dragon falls from his palms.  

 

Derek catches it on reflex.  It bites him.

 

“Fuck - shit,” the boy hisses, scrambling to grab it back from where it’s hovering with flapping wings between them. Derek fucking lets him because the goddamn thing bites. “Sorry, she’s---”

 

“A fucking dragon,” Derek says stupidly, because it’s so obviously a dragon, the kid already knows. It’s a deep and glimmering blue, with patches of black melded seamlessly through the scales, wings and a blinding white underbelly.

 

The guy freezes, mouth falling open on an oh. “Um...No. No it’s a bird. See--- see the wings? Magpie.”

 

And yes. Derek does see the wings, but he also sees the clawed fingers at the end of the wings, and the tail, and the snout and the long, thin neck. It might not be bigger than a gerbil, but it’s absolutely a dragon. “It’s a fucking dragon and it bit my car.”

 

“Okay well. Yes, it is a dragon,” the kid admits, standing up straighter. His gaze is furrowed and curious as he looks at Derek, up and down and then once more until Derek can’t help but squirm a little.  He sets the dragon on his shoulder, where it proceeds to climb up the side of his face and lose itself in the riot of the guys hair. “But humans can’t tell. They see a magpie. Which means you’re....not human.”

 

At that, Derek freezes. He considers dropping his groceries and bolting into the camaro, but with a flat tire, he won’t get far without risking the rim and ---well, he’s a goddamn werewolf, he’s not afraid of punk kids with pet lizards.

 

“What do you think, Tootsie Pop?”  With a tiny hiss, twin puffs of smoke escaping its nostrils, the dragon raises its head from the guys hair and swipes three claws at Derek.“Ah. Yes, you’re probably right.”

 

“Excuse me?” What the hell does ah mean?

 

“A werewolf,” the kid says smugly, rocking on his heels. The dragon has returned to it’s hair-burrowing, and it’s small enough that the spiky curve of its spine can barely be seen. “Derek Hale ,right?”

 

Which --- Derek scowls. “Let me guess - you know my sister?” Everyone knows Laura. Everyone likes Laura. She has a way of befriending everyone before Derek even has a chance to introduce himself and they always, always like her better. It’s a goddamn crime.

 

The kid blinks. “Your mom, actually. So like, since you know about me, and I know about you, how about I fix this tire the old fashion way? ‘Cause honestly I wouldn’t know your lug nut from my left nut, and I’m not allowed to handle tools.”

 

Derek doesn’t know about him though, and he means to correct the kid, but he can’t because he’s too busy watching him crouch by the tire and inflate it magically with his hand.  Which yes, would be the old fashion way, wouldn’t it? He touches it and it inflates. He drags his thumb over the tiny fang marks, and they heal with an electric blue swwwzzzt.

 

Rising from his crouch, he sticks a hand out  - the same magic hand that magically fixed the tire. Derek does not want to touch it. He does not. “No harm, no foul right? I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

 

Derek shakes his hand because it’s never smart to be rude to wizards. “Derek Hale,” he says stupidly, because the kid already fucking knows that.

The kid grins anyway, and reaches up to haul his fucking lizard monster out of his hair. “This is Tutu - ah...Nosferatu, but that’s kind of hard to yell across parking lot when she’s trying to horde cars.  Sorry about that - it’s a compliment, really! Dragons like....Pretty things. Shiney things.”

 

“Like...my car.” The dragon looks at Derek with complete fucking disdain before skittering its way up the kid’s arm, to disappear in the hood of his red jacket. Its tail lays curled over his shoulder, black and swishing.

 

“Exactly.” The kid rocks on his heels, blinks twice and then lets out a long, and loud breath. “Well. I’m just...Gonna go now. Nice meeting you, Derek Hale. Tutu, say bye!” From the depths of the hoodie, the dragon hisses.

***

He’s parked illegally outside the Mayberry Cafe, when the dragon smacks itself into the front window of his car like an especially large bug.  It hisses at him through the class, as it slides down the smooth surface, and Derek is struck with the overwhelming urge to flick his wipes on, just to see it fly. He doesn’t, but it’s a close call.

 

Derek reaches out the window of his car to peel the thing off the hood, and gets bitten for his troubles.  It latches on to the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, and the fucking thing is out for blood.

 

Actually, now that Derek thinks about it---it’s not letting go. It’s suckling.

 

Derek shakes his hand a little frantically, and its tiny body swings with the momentum, but it jaw does not unlock, and he’s stuck with the sudden and inexplicable realization that he’s being bitten by a tiny vampiric bird dragon. Her name is Nosferatu.

 

“Tutu, no!” Stiles Stilinski nails himself in the shin with an entire fire hydrant in an effort to cross the street to Derek’s car. His face is pinched as he approaches the window. “I am so sorry---”

 

Derek can’t help but bare his teeth a little. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it’s the fucking principal of the thing. “Get it off me---”

 

Stiles does. He reaches in, and grabs the fucking dragon around the head, pressing his thumb over both its nostrils until it’s forced to open its mouth and---

 

Bite Derek again, just fucking because.

 

Stiles jams the little thing into the front pocket of his jeans, where it hisses and spits but seems to settle.  Derek’s hand bleeds sluggishly for exactly eleven seconds before the pin prick wounds heal to nothing. “It bit me.”

Stiles has the grace to flush at that. “I’m-- -I’m really sorry! She’s never fed without permission before oh my god, I can--- I don’t know what I can do actually, you’re already healed? I could buy you a coffee? Or like, a sandwich? Or---”

 

“Buy your dragon a fucking leash,” Derek bites out because seriously, what the hell. Miniature Dragons! Miniature Vampire Dragons - Derek does not have time for this. He really does not.

 

“She hoare's pretty things,” Stiles says, sounding a little desperate. And maybe a little embarrassed. “You’re---you know. Pretty. She likes you.”

 

A vein throbs in Derek's temple. Headaches aren't something werewolfism can cure, he'd learned as much at a young age with as many sisters as he has. "I'm not---" He growls, frustrated. "I'm not pretty." 

  
Stiles grins, and rocks on his heels. The dragon is peeking its mean little mug out his front pocket, its claws curled over the curve of the denim. "Dude," he says, in mocking reproach. "You're kind of pretty." 

 

 


End file.
